True flying is not about gazing through the porthole. But at the top of the cliff, running with all my strength against the wind of the Indian Ocean, until the earth quietly recedes and my body is steadily lifted by a gentle yet firm force. The wind takes shape - it transforms into wings behind you, supporting you to slide towards the boundless blue. Under my feet are the emerald like sea cliffs and fine white wavy lines of Uluwatu, with only the whispers of the wind in my ears. You broke free from the horizon and became a bird overlooking the Island of the Gods. The significance of paragliding lies not in reaching, but in the pure freedom of hovering between heaven and earth.